


If This Is a Rom-Com, Kill the Director

by akaVertigo



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Laura Hale, Alternate Universe, Other, Werefox Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-25
Updated: 2013-04-25
Packaged: 2017-12-09 11:31:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/773715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akaVertigo/pseuds/akaVertigo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>God, Derek was totally going to give him crap about the cage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If This Is a Rom-Com, Kill the Director

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jerakeen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jerakeen/gifts).



****

There were, Stiles decided, three ways this could get worse.

The first was his dad realizing he was missing. Unlikely, yes, (thank _you_ , flu season and your week of unending double-shifts) but not impossible. Dad might hold off the worry until midnight, but afterward he’d start looking. The animal shelter wouldn’t be the first place he checked, but it was in the top five.

Option number two was Scott. Scott who should’ve been here, tucking in injured Labradoodles and soothing ulcerous cats and making sure nobody peed in their water dish and whatever else it was that Scott was underpaid to do. Scott, who was instead summoning the balls to play footsie with Allison under the Argent dinner table.

Stiles didn’t want to think about the third option. Even when the basement window broke and every one of his four legged neighbors went haywire at the definite smell of wolf, Stiles shut his eyes, hid his face under his tail and tried very, very hard not to think of the third option. Because there was no doubt that behind door three sat the worst fate of all.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe it was Laura. It could be Laura.

“You bloody idiot.”

It wasn't Laura.

_Crap_. Stiles tried to crawl further under his tail. It would’ve been easier if the normally fluffy appendage wasn’t bedraggled from having to scrape his way out of a ditch. As things stood, the poor thing was matted and scrawny-looking. It was nearly as embarrassing as the cage.

God, Derek was totally going to give him crap about the cage.

“We are going to be having long, long talk about this later.” Metal squeaked against rubber, the cheap lock wretched apart. Like it was so hard to find the key, sure, the damn showoff. _Show-wolf_ , Stiles thought automatically before the cage door wheezed open and strong, warm hands slid under his belly. “A long, long talk. With extra emphasis on the importance of forethought in the form of common sense and learning to watch where you’re going—a ditch? Seriously? You couldn’t navigate a ditch.”

Stiles would've gladly pointed out that there was nothing uncommon about slipping in rain-slick dirt and that night vision was hardly proof against the laws of friction, except that being lifted out of the cage knocked his injured paw and he had to divert attention to whimpering pathetically instead. Because, yes, this _could_ be more humiliating.

“Damn it,” was said very softly and with feeling. The hold around Stiles’ furry middle shifted and turned, and he went from carried to cradled. Like a _pet_. Awesome. Just—awesome.

“You honestly can’t help being a walking disaster zone, can you?” Fingertips slid under bandage around Stiles’ left paw, not quite probing. “Is anything actually broken?”

Stiles’ ears flattened, but dignity probably didn’t count. He shook his head.

“Consider yourself a lucky tiny bastard, then. You know any of the cars passing were twice as likely to drive over you as stop, let alone bring your sorry ass to a vet?” The grip around him shifted again, _gah_ , and suddenly Stiles was muzzle-to-face with a whole lot of very, very focused werewolf. Something in his stomach coiled low and warm. It was the most inappropriate time to notice how weird-pretty-striking Derek’s eyes were.

“You could’ve died,” Derek said. “I—we told you not to go out alone and you go out alone. Just like you were told to stick close to your house and not go into the bloody woods. Just like you were told to stay the hell away from the back roads. I ought to stuff you back in the cage and leave you here for the night,” he added.

There were, Stiles decided, three ways to get out of this. He could bite Derek’s gorilla-like thumb and be dropped on his tail, or head, for his trouble. He could bark his protest and be shaken apart. Or he could—

—lick Derek’s nose.

“…” said Derek.

What the hell, Stiles thought, as he nestled within the smell of leather and gloom, while Derek carefully retreated through the ruined window. It could’ve been worse.

****

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for the luminous [Jerakeen](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Jerakeen) over at [her DW](http://jerakeen.dreamwidth.org/259183.html?thread=3920239#cmt3920239). The pseudo backstory for this 'verse can be found there as well.


End file.
